Spinning in Circles

This poem was constructed using a rather complicated structure, which was inspired by Alice Notley's poem "A Requiem for the Second Half of Split" (if you're interested it can be found on poetryfoundation.org). I'll warn you now that it certainly does a lot of jumping around, but I hope you'll find it interesting.

Spinning in Circles

Looking up at the sky and turning in circles makes me dizzy.

As in eating snow cones and getting brain freeze while the syrup

Drips between my fingers and makes the paper cone disintegrate

Between my fingers before I can slurp up the last, sticky bit,

Or losing the item I had most hoped to find

At that particular moment. My great grandmother is lying

In a hospital bed full of tubes, “arm wrestling” with my aunt

One last time, the only time she ever let her win.

Staying up until all hours of the night with friends,

Tossing back popcorn by the fistfuls and drinking soda

Between breaths between words. Fumbling for the

Cabin door on the cruise ship after my first goodnight

Kiss, breathless and warm to my toes and smiling maniacally

At my parents. Seeing the little garter snake dart across my path

At the apartment complex, making me scream and jump.

See how well I keep house with Paul,

Watched my brother stand up in front of the congregation

Speaking an ancient tongue. And there is my mother good-naturedly

Flipping me off for my cheek. And then playing tennis, but

The less said about that the better. And rolling out precious

Clay figures with my grandmother.

I can’t keep track of time passing at the ranch in California,

With its precocious daisies, and my grandparents’ graves, and

Slow growing sugar pines larger than my imagination.

Like watching the bird smack against the dirty window pane,

Apparently dead, to be revived by my mother’s touch-

A miracle. And me fascinated by the land of the pyramids.

My deepest desire to be an archaeologist until I spent a hot day

Digging in the dirt. My head always in a book, even at dinner

With company when I knew it was rude.

Why don’t people let you be? Why don’t they stay with you forever?

Why do seasons change? Why do leaves change

As though someone spilled globs of paint on them?

Why do birds only sing one song each?

Sometimes the wind whistles through my earrings,

And I change my step to match its beat.